RBARIANS 

By 

)eCAMP LELAND 




iTRY-DRAMA COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 

BOSTON 

Price 35 cents 



BARBARIANS 



"It is insulting, if you like, but you cannot 
deny that it is also truthful, and truth is 
what we writers aim at. " 



BARBARIANS 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT 
By 

ROBERT DeCAMP LELAND 

Being An Episode of 
The War of 1914 



The Poetry-Drama Co., Publishers 
Boston 






Copyright, 1915. by 
Robert DeCamp Lcland 



JUL 3! 1915 

©CI.D 41374 

fuot, 



BARBARIANS 



Scene 



A barber-shop in Provencia, a typical small town of 
the Republic. 

Time 
Spring of the year 1915. Late afternoon. 

Persons 

Dennis Culp, the town's lawyer, justice of the peace 
and political string puller of the county. Fat, 
sluggish-moving, full of face and sharp of wit. A 
cracker box politician. Age fifty-two. 

Richard Prost, editor and publisher of "The Beacon," 
the town and county newspaper. Tall, sleek, a rus- 
tic in dress, bearing and mentality. A smug man 
of the people. 

Frederick Tyran, owner of the Provencia mills and 
wealthy by the town standards. Known as the 
Leading Citizen. A self-made man with the usual 
rebellious children and society-infatuated wife. 
Opinionated, but always on the side of convention. 

Stanley Ebben Dowd, pastor of the local church. Pious 
to the bone. Would run from truth as from the 



swish of a woman's gown; and holds mirror- 
breaking to be the amusement of Godless men. 
Old, gray, soured. 

Ben Loof, Provencia's man about town. Winter home, 
the grocery store. Summer home, the barber shop. 

Dave Brandt, the town barber. Known in Provencia 
as The Stranger. A serious, kindly man, well past 
middle age. Thought by the townspeople to be a 
little queer, because it was once discovered that he 
wrote poetry. 



BARBARIANS 



Scene: A typical barber-shop in a typical small town. 
A small, dirty, brown-varnished room, reeking of 
pomade and perfumery. A lone barber-chair stands in 
the middle of the room before an expanse of mirror. 
Beneath the latter, the usual array of bottles and ton- 
sorial paraphernalia. On the walls a jumbled grouping 
of town notices and cheap lithographs of young women 
in various stages of undress. A row of tumble-down 
chairs on one side of the room; before them a small, 
table with the usual collection of magazines. There is 
one door, which opens out into the village square. 

It is late afternoon of a threatening April day. 
Brandt comes into the shop, takes off his coat and hat 
and slowly lights the single oil lamp that hangs from 
the center of the room. He seems worn and haggard. 
H,is eyes are troubled and his step, as he walks about 
the shop, is heavy. He turns to the windows and 
lowers the shades, one by one. Before the last one he 
pauses and stands looking out on the village square. 
The town is as quiet as a city street on a Sabbath 
afternoon. Sighing, he lowers the shade, and turns 
away from the window. Going slowly to the table, he 
sits down and reads from a newspaper he has brought 
with him. It is a city sheet, a week old, but to him it 



is news. The headlines and news matter glaringly tell 
war's story, varying crudely mendacious and sensa- 
tional accounts with the babbling sentimentality of 
hate-inflamed editors, the whole being what passed for 
news in the early years of the war. 

Loof enters, grunts hello, and sprawls out in one of 
the chairs. Brandt looks up, then back at the paper. 
Silence. Then high-pitched voices are heard outside, 
and Dennis Culp and Richard Prost enter in heated 
agreement. 



Culp 
I tell you it's barbarous, that's what! It's about time 
we did something, by George! 

Prost 

First be sure you're right, then go ahead. That's 
my motto. An' I guess it's a good rule, ain't it? An' 
there's no question but that you're right. 

Culp 
(Decisively) Right! Why, to a certainty. I'm not 
gen'ly on the off side, am I, hey? (He nods to Loof 
and Brandt.) Hello Dave, hello Ben. 

Prost 
Howdy boys! Looks like rain. 

Brandt 
(Busy arranging things at shelf.) Good afternoon. 
(Culp gets into the chair and Prost sits down beside 
Loof at the small table.) 

10 



CULP 

{To Brandt) Well, what do you think about it, 
Dave? Haven't heard you express your opinion. I 
suppose you've read the news. Ain't it just about the 
limit! Cruel, inhuman, barbarous; that's what the 
paper calls it, and that's my sentiment, {Brandt is 
silent) 

Prost 

{Unconsciously quoting) Thousands of women and 
children slaughtered in cold blood! This outrage will 
go down in history as wholesale murder. Think of it! 
My wife and your wife might have been there! 

Culp 
An' it was done in such a cold-blooded, deliberate 
way. Almost premeditated, I'd call it. Accordin' to all 
the tenets of international law, it was murder ! 

Loof 
( Wagging his head gravely in assent) Yuh, murder ! 

Prost 
{Righteously) Let alone the sovereign rights of hu- 
manity. Think of it! Why the paper says, churches 
looted, homes demolished, women ravaged. And now 
this. I tell you it's an upheaval. I have never seen 
the press so charged with righteous indignation, an* 
the people so stirred. 

Culp 

{In his favorite judicial manner) An' why not? We 

bein' a neutral nation, have the right to judge. Could 

we stand idly by and see the slaughter of the innocents ? 

By all the laws of the commonwealth and humanity, no ! 

ii 



{He is interrupted for a moment by Brandt, who passes 
a lathered brush over his mouth. A pause. The door 
opens and Pastor Dowd enters, an umbrella in one 
hand and a batch of journals in the other. Gingerly 
he crosses the room, nodding economically to the group, 
and sits down beside Loof. The men exchange greet- 
ings) 

Dowd 
{Tremulously) I suppose you have seen it. Really 
I think it's too horrible. {He nervously fingers the 
papers and looks around for assent) 

Prost 
You're right, pastor, it is. 

Dowd 
I would pray for them for they know not their crime. 

Culp 
{Grandly) We must each do our share. We must 
make a protest. Of course war is war, but right is 
right, and justice is justice. 

Dowd 
{Gravely) You have said well. 

Loof 
Damned if it ain't so. {Dowd starts and glares at 
Loof. The others laugh) 

Prost 
{Winking at the others) Guess Ben is a little carried 
away with the question. But I don't blame him none. 
Say, did you ever read history Well, last night I was 

12 



happenin' to read of the old days of Rome, of them 
old Vandals and Huns, and it come to me sudden the 
likeness of the Vandals and Huns to these Barbarians. 
They're just the same. 

Culp 
Should think that would make a great argument for 
your next Wednesday editorial. 

Prost 
(Excited) By hemlock! a stroke of genius. I never 
thought of it. I'll set it boxed on the front page so 
that all the world can read. 

Dowd 
(Tapping his umbrella on the floor to emphasise his 
words) Good. We must all do our part for the cause 
of right. Gentlemen, next Sunday you will hear me 
give from the pulpit a stirring sermon whose text 
is "Right or Might?" I will show what the power of 
the pulpit can do, and flaming, righteous indignation. 

Gulp 
We'll all be there, pastor. I'll bring Lizzie an' the 
kids. 

Loof 
I ain't gone to church fer ten years, but believe me, 
Dowd, I'll be there strong to hear the flamin' words. 

Prost 
And what your sermon won't do my editorial will, 
by gosh. We'll show them how to smash militarism ! 

13 



CULP 

(Gesticulating from the barber chair. Brandt is still 
busy with him) Everyone in the community must put 
their shoulder to the wheel. What you do in your 
field I will do in mine. The greatness of the law and 
the state will have their exponent in me. I will show 
you what the commonwealth can do. I will work heart 
and soul for that end, 

Dowd 
Well done! 

Prost 
(Quoting again) Good for you, Dennis. I always 
knew you had it in you. We will crush the rebellion 
of the mailed fist. Let those suffer who would turn 
Europe into a shambles, caring not for the respect of 
glorious, law-abiding civilization! 

Dowd 
(Amid general approval) Amen to that. (An auto- 
mobile draws up outside. A moment later the door 
opens and Frederick Tyran enters with the provincial 
pose and poise of the zvealthy small town citizen) 

Culp 
Why here comes Mr. Tyran! (They all look toward 
the door. Dowd and Prost rise and greet him, Dowd 
fawning, and Prost with bravado, hoof, sitting deep in 
his chair, looks up) 

Frost 
You're just the man we want to see, Tyran. You've 
come at the right time. 

14 



Tyran 

So ! {He fondles a cigar lovingly) What's the ex- 
citement? Fve been so blamed busy over at the works 
to-day that I couldn't get around before. {He pauses) 
Boys, I've got news, that's a hummer. {The room is 
all ears) The chance of my life has come to me to- 
day, the biggest opportunity I have ever had. It means 
a new era for me, the town and the people : I've got to 
tell you now; I can't wait. {Something in his tone 
holds them. The room becomes so stilled that the rain 
drops can be heard pattering on the walk outside. Culp 
half rises from his chair; Brandt stands poised with 
razor uplifted; Dowd nervously shifts his umbrella 
from one hand to the other; Prost mumbles "By gin- 
ger!" to himself; and Loof almost straightens up in 
his chair) 

Culp 

{Always the first to get his voice) We are waiting, 
Tyran; tell us. 

Tyran 

{Making the most of the moment) It is this. I 
have within two hours landed a $100,000 contract for 
shrapnel shells for the foreign powers. They will be 
used against the Barbarians. It will mean everything 
to us. I am starting work on a new factory at once, 
am hiring 200 workmen, and in three years' time I 
miss my guess if the village ain't the wealthiest in the 
state. {He pauses to let his words gather emphasis. 
A gasp goes around the room. Culp rises half out of 
his chair. Prost swallows a mouthful of words) 

15 



Dowd 
(Softly, to himself) It will mean a new church ! 

Loof 
(Marvelling) One hundred dollars ! 

Culp 
(Holding out his hand from the chair) Congratula- 
tions, Tyran ! It's the best thing you've ever done. A 
damn fine stroke of business, if you ask me ! 

Prost 

Great, Fred. We're proud of you. It helps us all. 
Why, even Loof here will be able to get a job. Give 
me the inside facts for my next week's issue. All 
Provencia should know this at once, as soon as type 
can be set! 

Tyran 

I can't do that quite yet, Prost, but thanks just the 
same. You see, this thing has got to be kept kinda 
quiet for a while, because we're not at war yet with 

Culp 
(Angrily) Barbarians! 

Prost 
(Quoting furiously) What if we are supposed to be 
neutral! Right is right, ain't it? And it's our duty 
to help crush rebellion and the ring of iron that tyrants 
mold! 

Dowd 
(Excited for the moment) Goodly words, goodly! 

16 



CULP 

We were just saying before you came in, Tyran, that 
each of us should do our share. Church and State, 
Society and Industry, should all join hands — and you 
represent Industry. (Suddenly excited, he jumps from 
the chair, nearly knocking Brandt down, and stands 
before the group) I've got it! Fve got a plan, and 
it's a crackyjack. Came to me just this minute. We 
can each of us show our separate belief in the right 
cause but, by Jingo, we want to make a united stand, 
don't we? (Shouts of approval) We are consecrated 
to the service of right and must do a serious duty. 
It is this, a petition to the commonwealth for war— 
a war for justice and right. If we don't help to end 
the life of the barbarian — and our help is sorely needed 
— we ourselves will be ended. The iron is hot, we must 
strike the spark. (The burning words of the glorious 
emancipator are not without avail. One by one the 
faces of the little group of patriots mirror the passion- 
ate fire of the liberator) 

Prost 
Wonderful, by George! 

Tyran 
A corkin' good idea. Let's get to it quick, because 
Jennie's waitin' supper for me now. 

Dowd 
(Piously) The church is with you. 

Culp 
Pencil and paper at once. (Prost produces paper 
from his pocket, Tyran a pencil. Culp seises them and 

17 



begins to write feverishly, balancing the paper against 
one of the wall art-studies. The others watch, Brandt 
at a distance) 

Culp 

{Reading) We, the undersigned, feeling as we do 

{He surveys the group — Brandt at a distance) See, 
how many of us are there? 

Prost 
{Counting up) Six. 

Brandt 
{Suddenly looks up, a queer light in his eyes. He is 
calm, impressive, powerful, his head thrown back) 
Five ! There is no sixth ! 

Culp 
{Astounded) What! What do you mean? 

Brandt 
{Quietly) What I said. I shall not and will not 

sign. And wait {With a sudden, swift leap he 

moves across the room, and snatching the paper from 
Culp's hands, tears it to pieces. The crowd is dumb- 
founded. Culp, in a fury of anger, takes a step toward 
Brandt, but the latter stands his ground) 

Brandt 
{With folded arms. Coolly) Stand back, Culp. I 
know you well, and the rest of you. I am not afraid. 
(His voice rises above the muttering of the crowd. 
Grudgingly they fall back, watching him with mixed 
anger and amazement) I have something to tell you, 
each one of you rot-ridden, puritanic humbugs, you 

18 



Philistinic jawbones from the tyrant to the fool. And 
you are all representative of your rotten land. You 
speak of barbarians ! Do you know the word's mean- 
ing? You denounce a race with the word "Hun"; 
do you know your own country and your own people? 
Thank God, it is not my country, though it is the land 
of my birth and my life. I have never been part of 
it; I have always hated it and been hated in return. 
For that is the penalty of the man who fights his 
fight alone. Are you so blind that you can't see who 
the barbarians are? You are the barbarians; you 
are the race of the Huns and the Vandals. You who 
would try to crush a race greater than yours as the 
sun is greater than the candle — a race that is willing 
to die for its rights, and a cause that is juster than 
race has ever before conceived. I see each of you here 
to the soul. I can read in each of you your own 
individual rottenness, your own representative loath- 
someness. Church, State, Society, Industry, rich, poor; 
humble, proud ; it is all the same. Each has its own 
barbarities that make your denunciation of others a 
farce that would cause a Puritan to rock with mirth. 
Your customs, you have none that are not either 
ludicrous or pathetic; your laws shams; your people 
illiterate, ignorant sheep; philistines college and back- 
alley bred; your women childless, your prophets lying, 
your artists rejected men. 

Culp 
Blasphemy ! You — — 

Brandt 
Blasphemy to you ! You hang the men that would 
tell you the truth ! Print what I say in the columns of 

19 



your newspapers, your magazines that cater and truckle 
to the barbarities of your men and women. Cast out 
for a day the stupid, inane, hypocritical trivialities that 
crowd your prints, pander to your prejudices and stifle 
your intelligence; cast them out and taste the bitter- 
ness of truth. You think yourself the greatest of 
countries; you hold yourself civilized. You are the 
lowest in the scale ! I have seen it all. My eyes were 
not blinded by the glare of conceit, blatant optimism, 

depravity, childish faith in what is (The crowd 

shudders) 

Tyran 
(Groping for words) This is treason. You'll suffer — 

Prost 
The man is mad. (Loof rises to his feet and looks 
about him, trying to learn what it is all about. Dowd 
makes several false starts toward the door, but he de- 
cides to remain and hear) 

Culp 
He lies, he lies ! Who are you to 

Brandt 

You are the richest country, God knows, and gold 
has been the pit into which you have fallen, rag, bone 
and hair. Gold, the silken siren, that sure as the years 
will turn to rend you. Its mark is on your industry, 
your pulpit, your theatre, your art, your literature, your 
laws, your state, your homes, your souls ! It has made 
hypocrites of your leaders, prostitutes of your women, 
suicides of your artists. Its brand is the brand of sin, 
shame and pollution of all things that God made good. 

20 



From your cities, your Babylons, to your provinces, 
the story is the same. Your vaunted accomplishments 
are nothing, your blatant proudness a thing of emptiness 
when that burning canker has eaten its way into the 
soul of your civilization. (There are mumblings from 
the group. Fear and anger are written on each face. 
Eyes smoulder with bitter hate. As Brandt continues 
their fury increases) Liberty! You do not know the 
word. You are forged with the chains of convention, 
of mean, tawdry matter-of-factness. There is little in 
your land that is not ugly, sordid. And you boast of 
it all. Can you boast of the disease of poverty that 
is rotting the soul of your state? Are you proud of 
your provincialism, your childish optimism, your class 
hate, your hog-fat millionaires, your city flappers, your 
rustic Philistines, the red tape absurdities of your laws, 
your vice-ridden cities, your equally vice-ridden towns, 
your pitiable fear of art and truth, your society para- 
sites, your demagogic cut-throats, your unsexed, neuter 
women and the sex war they are making, your million 
species of hypocrisy, your ugly, inartistic architecture, 
your life- wasting factories, the tyranny of your homes, 
the neglect and scorn of those who should be your lead- 
ers, your schools and colleges that are breeding you a 
race of stunted automatons, your literary prostitutes, 

your cartoon art (He pauses) And you it is who 

speak of barbarians ! Oh, the glories of irony ! Would 
you had the greatness to appreciate your own little- 
ness. (As he pauses, the group, led by Culp, moves 
toward him. Their muttered threats precede them. 
Brandt stands his ground, and suddenly reaches back 
of him. His hand comes up with an open razor in it. 
At sight of it the crowd halts) 

21 



Brandt 
(In terrible coolness) Back, all of you. I'm not 
through yet. I haven't told you all. (They stand 
around him sullenly) It is about myself. You think 
of me merely as "Dave" Brandt, the Stranger, a gruff, 
quiet, hard-working barber. (He pauses a moment and 
pours out the words almost in a sob) Did you ever 
hear of Joseph Brandon? I am Joseph Brandon — the 
Brandon you knew years ago. Yes, gentlemen, I have 
returned. (At the words a shadow crosses Prost's 
face; Tyran and Loof show sudden nervousness; 
Dowd's umbrella clatters to the floor; Culp's face goes 
ashen) You know the story well — better than I could 
repeat it. It is engraved in your hearts. You, Culp, 
your face is gray with your fear; you, who by the 
chicaneries of your profession, robbed me of a home I 
had slaved for for years. Not a soul in the town but 
knew, but you beat me craftily and I was helpless. 
And then my wife turned against me. I suppose you 
don't know why, Dowd? You and your damned 
hypocrisies killed the woman, and left me the shell, 
the parasite, the slave to convention. Her pride couldn't 
stand the loss of our home, and she left me. And 

Dan, my boy (His voice becomes almost tearful. 

Prost starts and opens his mouth to speak) Never mind, 
Prost, you can't alter it now. He had the soul of the 
writer, the heart of the genius; and you materialized 
him for your own profit, and turned his talent into 
the gutters of literature. I did not know till too late, 
but you knew, and it is written red in your heart. 
There is a separate hell for you for that. 

Tyran 
(Boldly) But I — you cannot hold me for any of your 

22 



misfortunes, Brandon; your case was a hard one, but 
my record is clear with the town. 

Brandt 

It was your son, Tyran, that made my daughter a 
prostitute. Loof will tell you. {Tyran' s face whitens, 
as the crowd shudders its surprise) Each of you killed 
for me something that makes life worth the living. 
That is the story, gentlemen, engraved with the scarlet 
letters that each of you wears unwillingly. It was here 
in this town years ago — I have lost the count — that 
you broke me and made me a thing of scorn. It was 
you that made me the derelict; but derelicts sometimes 
return, (His face goes livid; his body trembles. He 
lifts the razor above him; the group shudders and 
moves back) I would kill you all now, but you are 
institutions ; and you can't kill institutions. You can 
only wear them away in the long years of time. And 
there is but one means — truth. Remember my words. 
For them you would stone me to death, poison me with 
hate. That light is in your eyes now, but I will cheat 
you. And remember this — this one fact — for your hate 
of truth is the weakest link in the rotten chain you call 
civilization, but wiser men know as barbarism — re- 
member this — engrave it in your hearts, brand it in 
your souls, that civilization does not always advance. 
(He pauses, and with a movement of lightning quick- 
ness lifts the razor and slashes his throat viciously. 
He falls. Someone in the crowd shrieks — it is Dowd. 
Culp, with Tyran and Loof at his elbow, advances in 
awe to where the body of the dying man lies. Prost 
hurries to the door to call aid. He opens the door and 
stands looking out. It is still raining.) 

23 



